Never Enough Bling
by K8Malloy
Summary: When Kurt and Rachel leave on a touring Broadway show, it leaves Blaine and Finn to manage the competitive dancing schedules of their three kids: Everett and Amelia Anderson and Anastasia Hudson. Fearless Dance Dads. Well, maybe not so much on Finn's part.
1. Chapter 1

**Saturday, March 10****th****, 2:12pm - At competition:**

"BUT WHERE ARE THE BLACK JAZZ SHOES, FINN! And why isn't her hair parted over her right eye?"

"That is her right eye," Finn argued, frantically tossing aside costume pieces in his quest to uncover the missing black jazz shoes.

"No, Finn, HER right eye," lectured Blaine, grabbing the costume pieces Finn was throwing left and right and shoving them into an oversized ziplock bag. "Not the right side of her when she's facing you."

Closing his eyes, Finn dropped his head back against the wall - hard. "What the hell am I doing here, Blaine?"

Dropping the plastic bag into Ana's costume bag, Blaine fished for the ziplock containing Ana's first costume of the competition and thrust it in Finn's hands, knowing that's where the shoes were.

"I told you, you should just take a picture so you'd know what she's supposed to look like when you're done with her." Blaine walked behind Anastasia and pulled the bobby pins holding her bun into place, tossing them onto the table as she hopped in place, slipping her sweaty feet into the tight leather shoes. Within seconds, Blaine had unrolled the bun and was yanking a comb through her heavily sprayed and gelled hair in order to put the part in the correct place.

Tears rolling down her face, Ana cried out, "OW! That hurts Uncle Blaine!".

"Sorry. I'll be done in a minute," he said around a mouthful of bobby pins. Quickly creating a smooth high ponytail, Blaine snapped the bun maker back into place, and hurried to roll her hair back into a proper bun, jabbing the pins back into place. Applying the heavy duty hairspray, he looked up just as the dance teacher peeked into their dressing tent.

"We need Ana and Everett now," the teacher said in a rush.

"Take 'em," Blaine breathed out, "they're ready to go." When they'd left, Blaine began laying out the costume pieces for their next routine. "Finn! We've got eight minutes between this routine and the next and Ana's changing tights, shoes and her hairstyle. Ev can change himself. I'll do her hair, you need to help her change. Hand her the pieces in order: tights, leotard, skirt, socks, shoes, vest. Got it?"

Finn paled and prayed he didn't pass out.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _Four years ago I officially became a 'dance mom' in the world of competitive dance. No, my life is not worthy of a television show because we don't roll with that kind of drama. That said, it's been an eye-opening learning experience from day one. It can also be very difficult to be a parent of little ones at these events – I can't enter the male dressing room, but my six year old son is too old to come into the girls' dressing room with his sister, but too young to change on his own. There are no "family" dressing rooms. As a writer, I have wondered what life would be like for a dad who needed to change his daughter because there was no mom in the picture. How did Rachel Berry's dads handle things?_

_Clearly this is an A/U future fic. _

_Blaine and Kurt have two kids, Everett (11) and Amelia (9); Finn and Rachel have one daughter, Anastasia (8)._

* * *

**Saturday, March 10****th****, 7:04am – Anderson Household:**

"BlaineohmygodthankgodyouansweredRachelleftmeanotebookfilledwithdirectionsbutIcan'tfinditandIdon'tknowhowtodoAna'shairorwhattopackandI'mtheworstdadontheplanet."

Blaine pulled his cell phone away from his ear and checked for a second time that it was Finn who was calling. Wiping his hand down his face, he gingerly placed the phone back next to his ear and tried to project calmness and serenity.

"Finn?"

"Yeah, Blaine?"

"_Hiiii_. You know it works much better for the person you're calling if you actually put spaces between your words and pause at the end of sentences. How about you take some deep breaths for me and start over. _Slooowly_," Blaine exaggerated the spacing of his words, hoping it would help Finn calm down.

"You sound like Kurt," Finn pouted.

"It's a side effect of being together since we were sixteen," Blaine shot back.

"Do I ever sound like Rachel?"

"Finn! Concentrate. You called me for a reason, and as much as I'd like to chat with you about how we all start to act like our partners a little too much after time, I have to get Ev and Amelia to the dance competition."

Finn sighed loudly over the phone. "That's why I called. Rachel left me a long list of things I needed to pack and bring and hair stuff and shoe stuff and I don't know where I put it and I don't know what I'm doing and I'm the worst dad, like, ever."

"_Shit_!" Blaine muttered under his breath. "Finn? Put Ana on the phone for a minute."

When his eight year old niece came on the phone, Blaine tried to keep the stress from bleeding into his tone. "Ana, honey? Did your mom pack for the competition before she and Uncle Kurt left on tour? Or did she really leave everything for your dad to figure out?

"Everything's ready to go, except me. Daddy didn't know how to do my hair and I can't flat iron it by myself. But she did put everything into the roller bag."

"What are you wearing?"

"My tan tights, a black tank top, and my team warm ups."

"Okay, Sweetheart. Put your dad on the phone again, please." Blaine could hear the scratching as the phone passed hands. "Finn?" He waited for the grunt of acknowledgement before laying out the plan. "You need to put the dance bag – the one on wheels that looks like a suitcase, but was four times more expensive, into the back of your Tahoe, put Ana in the backseat, and drive over here."

"I think I can do that," Finn muttered.

"Well, you better. I can't help get Ana ready over the phone," Blain said with a shade more annoyance in his tone than he'd normally allow. But this hitch was going to completely switch his plans for a calm morning before the controlled insanity of the weekend's competition.

Hanging up the phone, Blaine stared at the black roller bag he'd been double checking when the phone rang. All four of Everett's costumes and all three of Amelia's hung on the rack that popped up out of the frame. Glancing at the master spread sheet that included all the information on routine, costume, tights, shoes, accessories, makeup, and call times, Blaine finished checking Amelia's last costume.

"Everett! Amelia! Are you done with breakfast?" he shouted from the guest room, which doubled as the safe space for all things dance to be stored between competitions and conventions.

The pounding of multiple feet echoed down the hallway, before the dark brown curls of his son and daughter appeared in the doorway.

"Yes, Daddy," they answered in unison.

Smiling warmly, Blaine mentally went through his checklist one more time. "Amelia, I'm going to have to do Ana's hair when she and Uncle Finn get here, so let's go style yours right now. Ev – I need you to put the roller bag into the car and yours and Amelia's duffles … then you can watch TV. Be sure to listen for the doorbell."

"'Kay, Dad."

Dropping a hand onto his daughter's shoulder, Blaine steered her into the bathroom for her transformation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Saturday, March 10****th****, 7:46am – Anderson Bathroom**

Blaine slid the eyelash adhesive deftly across the back of the plastic packaging, leaving a thin trail of glue, before blowing on it lightly. "You dip the eyelash into the glue, not too much, otherwise it will look a mess. Like this," Blaine offered, showing Finn how much glue he'd placed on the eyelash. "Then Ana will close her eyes and look down at the floor. Work from the inside of the eye out, placing it as close to her natural lash line as possible. Open, Ana."

With a critical eye, Blaine checked the alignment of the fake lash before handing the packaging to Finn. "Your turn."

"WHAT?!" Finn exclaimed, making for the door.

Kicking the door shut, Blaine stood in front of it shaking his head slowly. "Teach one. Do one. That's the rule. You've got to learn to do this – or the moms will eat you alive. They resent anyone who won't learn to do this on their own, and some of them already think that we shouldn't be there because we're guys. And the teachers don't have time to handle it – so hurry up and give it a go so we can finish her makeup and leave."

When he was certain that Finn wasn't going to try to bolt, Blaine picked up the comb and went to work separating Ana's hair into sections – one for the French braid that went from ear to ear in the front, and the rest that would end up in twin buns behind her head, one on top the other. Thank God Kurt had made him practice this style on Amelia until he could do it without issue.

"The black hairspray just helps you style it – it doesn't actually hold it in place, so don't ever just use that. This purple spray," Blaine held up the second can, "will hold it in place once you've got the complete style – but for competition, we then have to finalize with the yellow can – which pretty much shellacs everything into place."

Jabbing the last safety pin into place, Blaine picked up the yellow can and applied a heavy coat. "Don't touch the spray while it's drying or you'll get bubbles." Placing all three cans into the side pocket of Ana's duffle bag, Blaine turned her so he could assess Finn's application of the fake eyelash.

"Not bad, Hudson. A little high on the end, but I think we'll leave it." Picking up the eyeliner, Blaine made quick work of penciling in a thick black line on both her upper and lower lids. "I know it looks hideous up close, but it needs to be dark and bold for it to be seen from the audience. Just like Rachel's stage makeup."

It took another three minutes before Blaine had Ana's makeup finished. Placing everything into her duffle, he zipped it up and handed it to Finn. Opening the door, he strode out to the family room where his kids quickly shut off the television and stood.

"Picture for Daddy and Auntie Rachel?" he asked, waving Ana over to stand with the other two. In their dance team's sparkling uniforms, the kids smiled excitedly at Blaine who promptly sent the pictures to their missing parents and grandparents.

"Okay Team Anderson … And Team Hudson. Let's do this," Blaine said, clapping his hands together.

Following the kids out of the house, Blaine swore he heard Finn mutter something about wanting to be sick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Saturday, March 10****th****, 9:24am – Lobby of Convention Center**

"Let me explain this – _one more time_ – more slowly," Blaine seethed, forcing his inner diva into a corner. "I **can't** go change my daughter or my niece in the girls' dressing room – because I don't have the requisite girl parts. They're 8 and 9 – therefore too young to change themselves."

"Well maybe one of the other moms-"

Blaine didn't let the adorable young woman finish her thought. "_Right_. Because they're not busy with their own daughters. **No**. **Not** a solution. My issue is – I _know_ our team director made sure you knew – maybe not you," Blaine made a point of glancing at her nametag, "_Susie_. But that the directors of the competition knew that my kids were coming with their _two gay fathers_ – and therefore, needed a separate changing space. A **_family_** changing place. Frankly, I don't care who we share it with. My kids aren't bothered by body parts. But other people are, so in trying to be mindful, we _always_ make prior arrangements. Therefore, if _you_ can't find us a place to change, please go find the person who _can_. I'll be right here, standing in front of your cash register, until you do."

Glancing over his shoulder, Blaine offered a tired smile to Finn before locking eyes with his son, gesturing with his head for Everett to join him.

"Grab your small jazz costume and find the boys' changing room. Then find Maya. The girls are probably in the upstairs changing area."

"The one with the windows?"

"That's the one. Have Maya text me when you're with her and I'll text her where we end up so you can find me to change again."

A throat clearing drew Blaine's attention. _Susie_ had been replaced with _Daniel_. "Sir, could I ask you to step aside so I can help the other people behind you with their purchases?"

"You could ask, Daniel, but my answer is a decided 'no'." It was quite obvious Daniel hadn't expected Blaine to refuse to move. Shrugging unapologetically as other parents sighed dramatically behind him, Blaine smirked.

"Mr. Hummel?"

Blaine turned towards a man about his age, dressed in a dark suit and tie. "Mr. Anderson. Mr. Hummel is my husband," he explained, holding out his hand, shaking the other man's hand firmly.

"Mr. Anderson, I'm terribly sorry for the confusion. We did receive your request for changing space, and if you'll follow me, I'll walk you back to your room. I'm Ben, by the way."

Striding over to where Finn and the girls were standing, Blaine took the handle of the rolling suitcase his children shared, and gestured for Ben to lead the way. Blaine was familiar with the layout of the convention hall, having attended several dance competitions and other events in this particular location. Ben was leading them through the long hallway that led to the side and back stage area. Soon they were standing to the side of a staircase that led to the second story of the building, waiting for twenty or so tap dancers to carefully make their way down the metal steps.

"We found a small dressing room in between the four larger dressing rooms. It's right next to the two rooms we designated for the boys' changing rooms. My only concern is that it's really small," Ben explained, silently offering to take Ana and Amelia's bags for them as they climbed the steps.

Navigating the hallway to the dressing rooms was nearly impossible. Just wide enough for two people to pass shoulder to shoulder, it was packed with dancers who needed to stretch or practice, and parents frantic to make sure hair, makeup and costumes were performance ready.

By the time Blaine pulled up to the single person dressing room, Ben was having a heated conversation with two dance moms who had apparently removed the 'reserved' sign from the door and taken over the space.

"I'm sorry, but you'll need to find space within one of the other dressing rooms," Ben explained firmly.

"There's no room," one of the women shot back, continuing to work on her daughter's hair.

"You'll need to find space within one of the other dressing rooms. Whether or not you 'saw' a sign that clearly stated this dressing room was reserved, you need to pack up your things right now," Ben continued calmly.

"Isn't possession nine tenths of the law?" asked the second mother snidely.

"Well, I'm not sure about that," Ben commented, glancing back at Blaine and rolling his eyes. "But what I _do_ know for sure is that refusing to cooperate with the competition director, _which would be me_, **is** grounds for disqualifying your entire team. Not just _your_ children, but their entire **studio**. And I happen to know that Revolution Dance Studios registered just shy of two hundred dancers for 60ish routines. So, Ladies, should I go find Ms. Denise and let her know that the Revolution dancers can go home? Or will you be relocating?"

The two mothers grumbled under their breaths as they slammed the costumes, makeup and cans of hair product back into their bags and shoved their way through the crowded hallway. It might have been unintentional but 9/10ths of the Law's bag, hooked over her shoulder, somehow ended up slamming Amelia in the eye, nearly knocking her down the staircase. Only the sharp reflexes of two older dancers saved the 9 year old from a particularly bad fall.

Picking up his sniffling niece, Finn glared at the retreating women, yelling out, "What an amazing example you're setting for your kids." Passing Amelia over to Blaine, Finn encouraged Ana into the small dressing room as the first mom came tearing back up the hallway.

"Excuse me?" she shriked.

"No," Finn growled, turning so he was blocking the entire hallway with his broad form. "You slammed your bag into my niece, nearly knocked her down the stairs, after acting like you own this place. No apology. No concern. Who the heck do you think you are? Because you're not the one out on the stage – your kid is. You're not the one with your name on a billboard. So how 'bout you drop the diva act. I don't even put up with that from my wife anymore."

Sighing, Finn turned and stood in the doorway of the dressing room. "The next time Rachel and Kurt get an offer for a touring show … it better not be during competition season. They owe us."

Snickering, Blaine knelt on the floor and began unpacking the duffle bags containing the hair products and make up they would need for the day's competition. "Kurt promised us a ten-day cruise to Alaska." Glancing up, he smirked. "And the kids will be at Camp Burt and Carole."

"I hate you," Finn muttered without heat.

"You love me, because you couldn't do this without me."

"I thought we were bros, dude."

"Oh, we are. Who else could you call to help you with this? Exactly. Now start unpacking."


	5. Chapter 5

**Saturday, March 10****th****, 10:07am – Dinky Dressing Room**

"Wait, what?"

Trying to maintain his balance while squatting low, Blaine exhaled loudly. Motioning for his son to remove the earbuds from his ears, he nudged Everett with his elbow while snatching Amelia's light suntan tights from the clear Ziplock bag. "Ev, go stand in the hallway against the wall so we have a little more room, please?"

Glancing up from his iPad, Ev nodded and squeezed outside the door, leaning against the wall as he continued his game, his feet constantly moving through his upcoming tap routine.

Kneeling on the cement floor, Blaine scrunched the rhinestone tan tights down to the toe before helping Amelia slide them up one leg and then the next. Without looking over at Finn, he instructed, "You've got to scrunch them, Finn. They aren't like socks. Have her put her toe into them and then kick forward gently while you pull them up as high as you can before doing the same thing with the next leg. If you bend down, she can use your shoulders to balance."

"Like this?"

If he weren't so focused on the next ten things that had to be done, Blaine would have burst out laughing at the sight of Finn pressed tight into the corner, Anastasia standing between his stretched out legs, hands shaking as he tried to get her dressed. Shaking his head as he worked with the black fishnet tights, Blaine commented, "No underwear."

"No underwear?"

"Yeah, Finn. It'll show."

Grunting acknowledgement, Finn helped his daughter strip off her tan tights, then her underwear, tossing the offending undergarments in the vicinity of her duffle bag before struggling to get her tights back into place. "Okay, how 'bout now?"

"Looks good. Now you need to do the same with the fishnets … BUT you need to be super careful, because they snag like a bi—biscuit. You need to spread them with your fingers as you move them up her leg – to avoid the rhinestones." At this point, Blaine was stretching the shirt-skirt one piece up his daughter's torso, fastening the plastic clip that fell on the back of her neck, and positioning the suspenders. Lifting her up, he sat Amelia down on the counter so he could slide her stirrup socks and tap shoes on to her feet.

"And why are we covering up the rhinestones with fishnets?" Finn asked in exasperation. "I mean, what's the point? Can the judges really see them from their seats? Are points awarded for sparkles? Would they really not place as high if they just picked plain tights? I mean, Rachel was up 'til three in the morning one night gluing black rhinestones onto a black ballet skirt. You can't even see them."

"Ours is not to question why, ours is to get our kids ready regardless of whatever … divine … choices the dance teachers have made regarding costumes," Blaine grumbled, carefully touching up Amelia's makeup and hair. "Otherwise, I'd have really wondered whose bright idea it was to put Ev in a tuxedo unitard at the age of six. Or those disco one-piece pantsuits the kids wore last year. Anything that makes the bathroom an adventure – or threatens to cause an accident because it takes so long to get them out of it."

Glancing up at his image in the mirror, Blaine acknowledged the grey that was slowly working its way into the hair at his temples. Kurt insisted it made him look more distinguished, but secretly Blaine wasn't so sure. Shrugging, he helped Amelia down, handed the warm-up jackets she and her brother were to wear over their costumes, and waved her outside to join her brother. "Don't even think about going down those metal stairs without me," he warned.

"'Kay, Dad," she agreed.

Offering a hand to Finn, Blaine pulled his friend up off of the floor before turning his attention to Ana. "Lipstick and then I think you're good to go," he commented, holding out his hand while Finn fumbled to pull the tube from the front pocket of his jeans. With practiced care, Blaine applied an extra layer of the bright red color.

Finn slid her team jacket up her arms and held the door open for his young daughter. "Will our stuff be okay up here?" he asked Blaine softly.

Looking over his shoulder, Blaine nodded. "For the most part. I wouldn't leave the kids' electronics or your wallet, but no one's gonna touch their make-up or costumes."

Leaving the door to the dressing room open, Finn and Blaine each grabbed one of the girls' arms as they made the slow descent down the metal staircase, made especially slippery and dangerous given their tap shoes. Throngs of costumed girls kept running past them on the narrow stairs, on their way up to frantically change into their next costume and hair style.

By the time they reached the ground floor backstage area, speech was no longer possible. The music blared as Blaine took hold of his kids and maneuvered them through the bodies until they reached an indoor hallway where various dance teams were warming up their routines. While Blaine understood the why the dance teachers chose this area to loosen their dancers up, having ten or fifteen or twenty dancers working through choreography didn't leave much room for the other dancers and their parents to make their way to and from the dressing rooms.

"Blaine!"

Blaine stopped in between two groups of dancers, as the lead dance instructor hurried over, tugging a costumed girl behind her.

"Blaine, thank God you're here. Sashi's mom as the flu, her dad dropped her off. He managed to get her in her costume, but nothing else. Can you help? Ev's group is on in three numbers."

Taking a deep breath, Blaine nodded, pasting a smile on his face. "Sure. She have a makeup kit? Hairspray?"

Maya glanced down at her young charge. "Sashi? Did your dad give you your makeup?"

Sashi shrugged but had nothing further to add.

Feeling his blood pressure rise, Blaine tried to focus on the fact that nothing about this was Sashi's fault and emergencies came up all the time. "I'll take care of it. Who's the line mom for her routine?"

"Yolanda."

"Okay." Blaine turned to his daughter and niece. "You two stay with here with Uncle Finn. Make sure when they bring you back here you find him. Do not come upstairs without him, got it?" Seeing the girls nods, Blaine turned to look up at Finn. "Find a place against the wall, somewhere in this hallway and stay put. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"But – "

"Don't have time right now, Finn. Their line mom will come grab them in a minute and then they just need to be able to see you when she brings them back here. I gotta go. When the line mom comes, you can go grab a seat, but as soon as they dance you have to leave and come back here. You can handle this," he added.

Taking Sashi's hand in his own, Blaine began making his way back the way he'd just come.


	6. Chapter 6

**Saturday, March 10****th****, 12:42pm – Convention Center Auditorium**

"I need a drink," Blaine murmured as he slid into the seat next to Finn, letting the back of his head fall back until he was staring at the ceiling. "An adult beverage. _Very_ adult." All of the dancers who'd performed morning routines were packed on stage as the M.C. tossed t-shirts and glowing toys at them, the music blaring through the speakers.

In the dim light of the auditorium, Finn's forehead wrinkled in confused concern. "What happened? It's been, like, almost two hours." He hadn't seen Blaine since he'd left to do that girl's hair and makeup only receiving a series of text messages directing him what to do with the girls after they'd performed and where to sit for the awards ceremony.

Blaine couldn't hold back the low growl that rumbled through his chest. "Sashi's dad showed up in our dressing room and basically accused me of running off with her so I could do something inappropriate," Blaine grumbled quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of any of the spectators sitting around them. "Everett shows up about that time, so I told the guy he could take his kid and leave because I needed to help my _own_ kid get ready and I'd be in and around that dressing room _all_ day if he needed to find me because _now_, after dropping off his kid and leaving her so he could park his car, **now** he was _concerned_ because Maya had asked me to fix his kids hair and makeup so she was ready to perform. Because that's what it means when they tell you your kid needs to walk in '_performance ready_'."

Blaine rolled his head on the seat back so he could look at Finn. "I swear to all that is holy if you repeat this, I will deny it and they will never find your body – but I think I channeled my inner Kurt at his diva best for a couple of minutes."

Finn snickered quietly.

Sighing, Blaine sat up a bit higher in his seat, glancing at the stage, attempting to find his kids in the mix. "Then, in what has **_got_** to be one of the most bizarrely messed up things I've ever dealt with – he turns around and asks me … _to finish_ … his kid's hair and makeup. Three minutes before he's acting like I'm a child molester, but when the reality sinks in that he has no idea how to put fake eyelashes on his six year old – I'm his best friend?"

Reaching over, Blaine stole a program from Finn's hand and flipped through it until he found the first routine their studio performed that morning. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a highlighter and pen and sat up completely.

"So did you?"

Dragging the highlighter across the names of the routines he wanted to keep track of, Blaine shook his head. "I lifted Sashi up from the counter, handed her to him, and carefully shut the door. In his face. Ev needed to change and I certainly wasn't going to have him strip down in front of them. Maya's probably gonna be pissed, but I don't care. Someone else can fix his kid. I'm not the only parent here who knows how to glue on eyelashes."

Having hyped the dancers up for the past ten minutes, buying the judges some time to finish scoring the last few routines, the M.C. managed to settle them back down fairly quickly, having them sit down on the stage, and then scooting around to create walkways so the awards could be distributed. That done, he faced out to the audience, and called out, "Dancers, let's thank the people who've been sitting down while you've been dancing so hard!"

As the words sunk in, Blaine visibly flinched, muttering, "Sitting down. Right. 'Cause they just magically appear in costume, makeup and hair."

Nudging Blaine's arm with his elbow, Finn held up his program. "So how's this work?"

Turning in his seat, Blaine dropped an arm on the back of Finn's chair, and leaned forward. "This is gonna take a while. First," Blaine explained, "each competition has a slightly different way of doing things – so nothing I say here necessarily applies anywhere else. Here, there are three levels of competition – Red, White and Blue. Red's the beginning dancers just starting to get experience. White's the middle level and Blue's for the highly competitive dance teams. It's supposed to be based on how many hours a week the dancers have class – but the studios make the call where the lines get placed. Our kids will be in the White and Blue levels.

Finn nodded his understanding. "Okay."

Propping his head in his hand, Blaine considered what to explain next. "Within each level – the red, the white, the blue - the dancers are divided into age groups. For example, six years old and under, seven to nine year olds, ten to twelve, thirteen to fifteen, sixteen to eighteen. With me so far?"

Getting confirmation that Finn was still understanding all this, Blaine continued. "The age is the average age of all the dancers in the routine – so in some of the big numbers, you'll see an age of, say, twelve, even though there are clearly much older and much younger dancers.

"Is that why Kurt and Rachel sometimes talk about the kids' competition age?"

"Exactly. Their competition age is the age they are on January 1st of any given year. That's the age that gets averaged to determine what age group the routine will compete in," replied Blaine. "Now here's where it gets complicated. For each one of those age ranges for each level: red, white or blue, you'll see different sizes of groups per dance _style_. Red, ten to twelve year old jazz, might have jazz solos, jazz duets, jazz trios, jazz small groups, jazz large groups, jazz super groups, and jazz production – which, clearly is based on the number of dancers in a routine. And at every competition there are jazz lines, tap lines, lyrical lines, contemporary lines, hip hop lines. Frequently, but not always, you'll see ballet, pointe, acrobatics, ethnic and open styles as well.

Finn's eyes grew larger and larger as Blaine's explanation continued.

"Head spinning yet?"

"Definitely. Okay, there are three divisions. Red, white and blue." Finn spoke slowly, eyes closed as he tried very hard to figure this all out. "Each one of those divisions is divided into age ranges – and then the dancers perform different types of dance, which are further divided up by the number of dancers in the dance."

"Exactly." The announcer began handing out awards, and Blaine's pen flew across the page as he took shorthand notes . "Last thing. You'll hear them giving each routine a medal placement– elite double platinum, double platinum, platinum, high gold, gold, high silver or silver. Kinda like the Olympics except the kids aren't necessarily competing against each other. A lot of times you'll have three or four routines all earn the same medal, because the routine has earned enough points to qualify for that medal.

Groaning, Finn rubbed his temples. "Dude, you're, like, saying words, but …"

Blaine gave his brother-in-law an understanding smile and patted his knee sympathetically. "Oh, and there are special judges awards too. Best costume. Sweetest smile," Blaine continued knowing exactly how Finn was feeling right now. Kurt had given him much the same indoctrination four years ago when he'd come to watch Everett perform for the first time.

"And how long does all this awarding stuff take?" Finn asked.

Blaine flipped through the program before looking back at Finn. "Looks like they've blocked out an hour … which probably means an hour and a half. As soon as they're done, we'll grab the kids, take them upstairs to eat something and change."

Incredulous, Finn stared at Blaine. "Ninety minutes? How the _hell_ can it take that long?"

Snickering, Blaine didn't bother to look up from the program where he was still writing down the placements. "The last routine that performed was 153. We have 153 routines to announce their medal placement, then by age group they'll announce the top five or top ten … and remember that's by division. Then the special judges awards. And there'll be pictures too."

Finn let out a deep sigh. "This sucks, Anderson."

"C'mon, Hudson. We'll be walking in the door to my house in about … eight hours. Then we can have a beer. Or four. Make _that_ your focus."

Huffing, Finn crossed his arms and tried to pay attention to the man on stage. "We're ordering pizza on the way home. Rachel and Kurt are buying."

"Oh definitely. Most definitely."


End file.
